“Well, yes, powdering my nose,” she said aloud, forcing herself to focus on the present moment and not be intimidated by potential consequences of her mad actions. “And… a bird struck the window, yes!”
“A bird?” he frowned.
“A bird, indeed.” She nodded, importantly, as if the more strongly she nodded, the more convinced he would be of thisutter nonsense. “And I ran out of the powder room, totally out of my wits with fear, you see. And he… I mean, Lord Vernon, ran after me, to inquire if I were all right, but being in the state I was, I… I struck him.”
He glanced at the man once more then his eyes focused on her. “So, you mean to say it was all an accident?”
“Yes, exactly,” she confirmed. “Just a silly accident, and I am rather prone to those. Anyone who knows me will corroborate this.”
He thought about it for a moment then he spoke. “If it were just an accident, then you won’t mind me calling for help.”
“Oh, no, no,” she blurted out. “Please!”
He tilted his head as if to take a closer, more introspective look at the frightened little bird in front of him. “But you just said it was an accident. What are you afraid of?”
“Misunderstandings,” she explained. “People are all too easy to jump to conclusions.”
“You will explain then.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly explain hitting a gentleman over the head with a poker. They will think me mad, just like you do.”
A part of her wanted to hear him at least try to dissuade her of that, but he kept quiet, and all she could see in his eyes was growing suspicion.
“I can’t stay here,” she finally said, cracking her knuckles. “I need to leave before he wakes up fully.”
“And go where?” he asked, still wearing that frown.
She opened her mouth and promptly closed it again.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “I hadn’t precisely planned to be cast out for bludgeoning, so I’m afraid my options are rather limited.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sure we can find a solution for this if you stay here, and we call for help.”
“No,” Cordelia said suddenly, blinking rapidly as though the very notion had startled her into coherence.
At that moment, he looked very much the picture of a man accustomed tonotbeing refused. He looked up from where he’d begun to assess Lord Vernon’s condition with the sort of clinical detachment one applied to questionable cheeses and asked a startled question. “I beg your pardon?”
“I must leave… now.” She backed away from him, toward the corridor. “This entire evening has been aterriblemistake. I’vekissed a stranger, concussed a guardian, and ruined at least one fern. I must disappear at once.”
“Miss—”
But she was already moving.
“No, no, no. I’ve seen this in novels. If I stay here with you, there will be inquiries, and whispering and lace-trimmed accusations, and none of it is good for me.”
He followed her into the hall. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Ineverthink clearly. That’s the problem! I react! I panic! I swing pokers at people and then kiss innocent strangers!”
“I am notthatinnocent,” he muttered.
But she didn’t hear him, for she was already halfway down the corridor in a blur of black hair and regret.
“Miss!”
She glanced back, and that, as it turned out, was her mistake. For he was standing in the candlelight with his hair tousled, his coat askew, looking maddeningly handsome and far too concerned for her wellbeing. That was why she turned and fled even faster.
“Miss, dammit!”
